When I first obtained my license to leave the ruins, I didn't expect to end up where I am now. But hey, I guess these last 20 days stuck on the same few stations will do that to you. A few weeks ago, I was poring over gestation data and vital graphs, when this deadeye walked into my office. That in itself was unheard of, since they usually tend to avoid cloning centers like the plague. In that strange way of speaking those prometheans have somehow adopted, he told me that he wanted me to work against the very place I had worked in for the past half cycle. I was about to call station security, until he mentioned the cash that was to be made. I've never been that much of a loyal person. I've tried not to get too involved with either the cons or gaule elites, but of course in my time on the various stations I just had to run into both sides clashing. Usually over some derilict ship or what have you. Anyway, this deadeye wanted all the clone center files and logs as I could give them, as well as to slow the center down any way possible. Those instructions weren't too hard to follow. The center kept a stock of anti-growth hormones, to ensure stockier genotypes didn't get out of hand while gestating. The tank hoses, if there were any, were usually made from flimzy plastic, which was easy to tare. Sure, the files were encrypted, but with my level of access, it wasn't hard to get past the safeguards. The strangest thing was that the sudden clone deaths and computer failures were never investigated, and no one was ever brought to justice over it.
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